


Midnight

by dirtylittlegreasemonkey



Category: Emmerdale
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-01
Updated: 2015-01-02
Packaged: 2018-03-04 18:46:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3082403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dirtylittlegreasemonkey/pseuds/dirtylittlegreasemonkey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two-part fic. Spending New Year's Eve together: two New Years Eve nights they didn't have. An alternative take on canon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part One – Robert’s New Year’s Eve Party

**Author's Note:**

> M rating for Part One. Unbeta'd.

**Midnight**

**Part One – Robert’s New Year’s Eve Party**

 

“Is this some sort of joke?” Aaron says, fist wedged into his pocket and his frown so broad it’s as if he can feel the weight of it across his eyes. Robert’s in the distance sat in his Audi. They’re communicating by phone now. Slightly more inconspicuous than arranging hook-ups in the café, but not as thrilling.

The windows of the car have steamed up a little from the combination of the cold outside, heated seats and his breath, Aaron imagines. He’s had Robert’s breath, hot and clamped in the crook of his neck and he can just take himself back to the feel of it with only the slightest invitation. Just for the smallest minute he lets his mind travel back to Christmas Day, back to Robert kissing his neck and running his fingertips down the length of his tie in the longest of teases. They’d driven somewhere. Anywhere. And then the car had seemed too cramped, too constricting. It was getting dark and all around - from lights they could see on hills and houses just specs in the distance – people were at home with family and friends. Chrissie would be wondering where he was. But Robert never even spoke her name. He drove them, further into the dark and stopped the car and got out. Somehow the cold never reached Aaron’s senses and with no hesitation let Robert kiss him down until they were pressed against each other on the bonnet of Robert’s car. In the cold Christmas air, Robert’s kisses turned into wet shivers on Aaron’s skin.

“Not a joke. The invitation’s there,” Robert says on the phone and Aaron can see him rubbing his forearm against the window to clear a patch.

“Spending the night waiting on you hand and foot. Yeah, sounds great, that does.”

“Forget it.” Robert’s tone is saddled by a heavy sigh and for a second Aaron feels sorry for him.

“I thought you wanted to keep me away from her? Isn’t she going to be a bit suspicious?” Aaron knows Robert can sense he’s warming to the idea and turns away from his view of the car so even if his voice his giving him away his posture might not. Why’s he even considering it? Robert had only been taking the piss with the vol-au-vents comment but now he was offering the chance to stand around in a poncy shirt like something out of Downton Abbey. 

“I said I’m finding an extra pair of hands to help out and I am.”

“So this isn’t just a way to sneak off at midnight with me, then?”  

“I don’t see a problem with that, do you?”

Aaron’s stomach dips hearing Robert’s change of volume. It’s like a wave, combing over him and wiping away all those traces of doubt and reluctance. He shouldn’t be jumping through hoops for Robert or willing to stand around like a trussed up numpty for him and his missus but he will. And he’ll tell himself it’s because he has nothing better to do but he knows he’s powerless when it comes to Robert.

*

When Aaron arrives at Home Farm there’s a flurry of activity outside with a catering truck arriving and he feels sorely out of place in his hoodie and trainers (his best shoes for interviews, funerals and court cases shined up and in a carrier bag). Robert answers the door to him, a pristine white shirt unbuttoned and flapping open to reveal a glimpse of his pale torso. There’s a loose bowtie around his collar waiting to be tied. Aaron’s gaze lingers long enough to make Robert smirk.

“You made it then,” he says, leaning on the door and with the smuggest smile he’s even produced. Even after making Aaron come in bed he doesn’t look as smug as he does right there in the doorway.

“Nothing better to do,” Aaron says, easing past him and feeling awkward in the hallway. He tries not to look at Robert.

There’s a moment where it’s just them, where Robert looks hungry and soft all at once. Where a tuft of his blond hair has been ruffled by dressing and his skin has cleared up from the bruising and the muscles of his cheek flicker. They’re standing too close to make it bearable.

Chrissie appears on the staircase, her hair up, looking elegant and golden. The perfect wife to be. Robert snaps apart from him and Aaron raises his head in greeting.

“Here he is!” she says, chiming. “Our saviour!” Robert steps over to her and gone is the softness, now he’s rigid and reserved. His back is straight like a rope pulled tight.

“Thank you so much for agreeing to help us out,” Chrissie says, continuing to bestow compliments on him he doesn’t deserve. “What with Nicola off sick and then one of the waiters pulling out I just didn’t think we’d manage it.” 

Robert’s arm loops across her shoulders and it feels like it’s two against one. “I told you I’d sort it, didn’t I?” Robert says.

“Don’t mention it,” Aaron says, lost in a half-mumble.

Eventually Chrissie directs him upstairs to get changed and he’s all too aware that Robert is upstairs too getting ready. He’s shown into Lachlan’s room and there’s a plain white shirt and black suit trousers pressed and laid out for him on the bed. He wonders how Robert can stay so calm and natural when Aaron can barely hold a conversation with Chrissie without feeling like he has their affair emblazoned across his head.

There’s a rap on the door and his whole body tightens with annoyance and a brief ripple of excitement, expecting it to be Robert. The nerve of him to even attempt to creep in. But it’s Chrissie and with the relief comes a truck of disappointment. She holds an envelope of cash in her fingertips.

“This is just a little extra thank you,” she says, stepping into the room.

Aaron shakes his head. “No. You’re all right.”

“I couldn’t possibly expect you to do this for free! Not on New Year’s Eve. No, I insist.” She presses the envelope into his hands. She’s delicate and warm and Aaron starts to feel his mouth dry up with guilt. He feels sick. “This night is so important to us. I’m so grateful.”

“It was this or counting down with me mam,” he says, trying to make light of it.

“Well, truth be told,” she says, “I don’t think this how any of us really would like to be spending the night, but sometimes needs must.” Chrissie reaches out and touches his shoulder and he almost flinches. “You certainly scrub up well.”

Robert slides into the doorway, leaning on the frame now fully dressed in his tux.

“Speaking of scrubbing up well,” Chrissie says, glee in her voice. She squeezes up to him and Aaron catches sight of their kiss in his periphery. She pats down his chest. “I better check downstairs for any last minute disasters.”

With Chrissie gone and the tension between him and Robert suffocating, Aaron pretends to busy himself, shoving his casual clothes into the carrier bag his shoes were in. Robert stalks him into the room.

“I suppose she’s told you all the dos and don’ts of tonight,” Robert says, the unwelcome cold edge back to him, but their bodies so close Aaron can smell him.

“Maybe I’m not the one who needs telling,” Aaron says, glaring up at him. Aaron shoves his way past, not reacting to the way Robert’s head drops and the drawn disappointment in his mouth.

*

He’s required to smile – slightly lift the corners of his mouth – when people approach his tray of champagne. He’s required to hover and edge closer to those with empty glasses. He’s required to traipse back and forth to the kitchen to replenish glasses. He doesn’t have to talk and he doesn’t have to pretend he’s enjoying himself. He can take breaks for the loo (not to smoke) and he can have a glass of fizz at midnight on the condition no one sees. He hates the stuff anyway so he won’t bother. He’ll be stone cold sober when 2015 rings in and he’s forced to see Robert and Chrissie together. It’s the worst idea he’s ever had agreeing to this. And if it wasn’t for raising suspicious he’d have sacked it off around ten thirty having spent too long looking at Robert’s sour expression as he stood alone tipping more alcohol into his throat or watch him schmooze vacuously with the snobby morons who bothered to show up.

Aaron’s caught snatches of conversation and seen glances and looks which tell him enough – he hates everyone here. This might just be the New Year’s Eve from hell. Worse than whatever his mam has got on at the pub.

Of course Robert has looked his way more times than he should have. Lingered. Picked up a glass from his tray and just hung around Aaron like a fly while Aaron said nothing to him. It seemed he was just as aware of the torture as Aaron was. Yet he seemed to spend no time with Chrissie, who spent much of the night being led around the guests like a show pony by Lawrence.

It’s ten to midnight. Ten minutes until a new year. A fresh start. Aaron doesn’t like to think too far ahead. He never has. Never back, never forward. So he doesn’t. He waits until the guests have been hoarded outside and then he slips out of the building, necking a quick glass of champagne because it’s all there is. He doesn’t want to stand out the front of the estate with them all and watch the fireworks, watch the celebration. He’s happy to go it alone. He’s fine on his own.

He’s walking round the side of the house, wishing he’d smuggled a packet of fags with him, when he feels a shadow behind him and two cold hands press over his eyes. Robert cranes and kisses along the nape of his neck and Aaron does everything in his power not to moan against him. Robert’s hands cradle his waist and then there’s the shuffle, scuffing sounds of their feet and Robert has dragged him back against the stone walls of the estate, hidden by the consuming darkness. His back hits the solid stone and mouth opens, dragging Robert by the lapels of his tux, pulling their mouths together. Robert’s tongue licks against his roughly, his hands pawing at his body. Heat swells in Aaron’s blood and he feels Robert’s hips under his hands. He didn’t know he had it in him but he’s pushing their groins together, trying to savour that electricity they’ve been simmering on all night.

He might explode. He’s hot and then cold and his hands are in Robert’s hair and then down his back and all the while Robert’s dragging him by the waist, rubbing their clothed cocks together in desperate, breathy ruts. Somewhere in the distance they both hear it – _Ten….Nine….Eight…_

Robert’s teeth pull at Aaron’s lip.

_Seven…._

His hands squeeze, filling his grip with Aaron’s fleshy backside.

_Six…_

Aaron’s hands push up under Robert’s jacket, thumbs digging into his hardened nipples.

_Five…_

Robert’s mouth groans open, nose pressed into Aaron’s cheek, hot air bursting across his face.

_Four…_

The realisation. The breaking apart.

_Three…_

A quick, tender kiss on the mouth.

_Two…_

Robert runs through the kitchen, smoothing down his hair and lifting two glasses of champagne.

_One…_

Aaron tucks in his shirt. Alone.

_Happy New Year._

The estate bursts into colour as the sky crackles with fireworks and somewhere, Chrissie is getting the New Year’s kiss that he laid the foundations for.


	2. Part Two – The Barn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Second and final part. In this version of New Years Eve their planned night together happens - but is it any better than being apart?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Separate scenario to Chapter One so can be read alone

**Part Two – The Barn**

 

“So,” Robert says, slipping off his jacket even though his breath is making frost clouds in the barn. “Aren’t you impressed?” He raises the bottle of fizz up towards Aaron. He knows next to nothing about champagne – even despite living in France for all that time – but the label itself is personalised with an image of Home Farm and everything is in a fancy gold swirl. It’s expensive. He’s supposed to be flattered.

“Am I meant to be?” he asks, simultaneously lifting up a cardboard box of Carlsberg from behind the bale he’s sat on.

“This is top stuff. Chrissie had it ordered specially. She’ll kill me if she notices one of the bottles has gone.” Robert stops talking and realises that Aaron isn’t reacting, isn’t being grateful.

Aaron unloads a can from the pack and opens it. “Won’t she kill you for being late to the big party?”

Robert shrugs and takes a seat beside Aaron. He’s not dressed for celebrating yet. Aaron imagines Chrissie has an outfit picked out for him – probably one that matches hers. Then he stops himself, tries to stop the resentment of her that has been piling on top of him every time he thinks about her. This isn’t to do with her. This isn’t her fault. He should feel guilty not run mad with jealousy.

“I’ll get back there before it all kicks off. She won’t even notice I’m gone.” Robert’s words dissolve their way into his usual smoothness, his hand sliding across Aaron’s chest and angling his head until they’re staring at each other’s mouths.

Aaron didn’t know what he’d been expecting from New Year’s Eve. He’d not made any plans and with Adam’s curfew there didn’t seem much point. He wasn’t interested in going out alone – besides, the whole night was overrated and a waste of money – so invariably he would have ended up in the pub, dodging questions from his mam about this new fella in his life. He’d done everything to try and convince her he wasn’t seeing anyone but the usual techniques of avoiding questions and stony, sarcastic silences didn’t seem to put her off course.

He just ended up giving things away in his mood, the sneaky glances to his phone and the smiles that slipped out. Robert was a keen texter. It was a struggle to stop himself blushing at the ears, although his replies were usually less transparent, colder. He made Robert work for attention.

That morning Robert had hung around in the café longer than Chrissie wanted him to and they’d arranged to meet. The implication had been there of course – Robert would fuck him, they’d get their fix and he’d be gone again. Back to Chrissie. Back to slip seamlessly into his other life.

In the barn, Robert’s hand warm on his thigh, Aaron stops the kiss before it’s even begun. He picked up the champagne bottle from the floor.

“We opening this then, or what?”

Robert’s hands withdraw, his jaw locking to one side. “Didn’t think you were interested.”

“Well, if it’s top stuff,” Aaron says dryly, clambering to his feet and giving the bottle a shake.

Robert leaps up and handles the bottle protectively. “Easy!” he says, taking the bottle from Aaron.

“No glasses?”

“I didn’t think you’d be opposed to sharing,” Robert says, his eyes sparkling with the flirtatious smile that Aaron is won over by all too often.

Aaron watches as Robert’s hand curls around the head of the bottle and flicks the cork loose. With a pop, he loses sight of the cork and sees the foamy spray shoot across Robert’s hands before Robert pushes it into his mouth. Aaron stumbles back, feeling the rush of champagne scratch the back of his throat. He barely gets a taste of the bitterness, the speed of it makes his eyes close and a trail of it escapes down his chin and then Robert’s snatched it back, sucking back a mouthful himself. He releases it with a satisfied sigh and before he’s even put the bottle down, Robert reaches for Aaron, crushing their champagne mouths together. Robert’s free hand pulls Aaron closer by the hip, his tongue lifting the smears of spilt champagne from his Aaron’s lips.

They pull apart enough to share more, kissing away the clumsy swigs, and hands opening each other’s jean fastenings.

“Good stuff, right?” Robert says, hooking his arm around the back of Aaron’s neck. Their mouths meet again and Aaron tastes the cold spiky bubbles that linger on Robert’s tongue as his glides against it.  

When Robert pulls away, Aaron can hear the sound of his own breath ragged in the air. Robert’s placed the bottle down and has his face in his hands and looks at him, looks right into him like every single part of him is focused. He’s not split, he’s not torn, he’s not anyone else’s. Robert manoeuvres them both backwards and Aaron’s legs collide with a stack of hay and he falls with a little bounce, elbows keeping him up. Robert stands above him, jeans open and flapping at the waist. Even without looking Aaron remembers the patterns of the moles on his thighs and a scar on his hip from some scuffle with Andy. He’s had plenty of scraps and yet his body is flawless. It even tastes smooth.

He shifts, trying to rebalance, to stand up, but Robert places a hand on his shoulder.

“Just stay right there,” he says and steps up close. His hands are cold from where he’s gripped the champagne bottle and as his fingers caress lightly down Aaron’s chest, Aaron can feel goosebumps in their wake. Robert’s fingers peel into his jeans and underwear and then they’re down.

Aaron’s head lolls back, but not before he’s seen Robert sink to his knees. His gaze flits between Aaron’s cock and then to his face. He wears the smile of a real git. His hands span Aaron’s hip bones, thumbs rolling sweet circles over his balls. Aaron’s breath spurts from his nose in a wheeze like a kettle. Heat prickles his skin.

“This is what I’d call a Happy New Year,” Robert says, wetting his lips with his tongue, his glance tracking no further up Aaron’s body than his navel. Aaron’s got no time for Robert’s cheesy comments at the best of times, but this just might be the exception.

He knows he’s smiling because he can hear it when he says to Robert: “Just get on with it, will you?”

Robert’s mouth is as impatient and needy as this push and pull relationship has become. Aaron would have told him, would have mocked him – said what a nice change it was to hear him quiet – but he couldn’t think in coherent sentences, couldn’t voice anything other than lust mangled versions of Robert’s name. The word Rob gets stunted and swallowed up in gasps and the sight of Robert’s cheeks hollowing. Robert licks the sarcasm, the gruffness, the moodiness right out of him. He leaves Aaron’s chest twisted up forgetting how to breathe and arms flung back into the straw. Aaron’s hand pushes through Robert’s hair, leaving it in a roughed up state and then Robert’s lips loosen their grip.

Aaron’s head clears just enough to speak. “What you stopping for?”

Robert smiles, saying nothing, and his head buries down back to finish what he’s started.

*

They found some old sacks and they made a decent, if not scratchy, cover for the barn floor. Robert’s on his back, stretched out and naked, hands behind his head – apparently not cold although the hairs raised on his arms and his nipples tell another story. Aaron sits up and feels Robert’s eyes on his back and then he rises, afraid of Aaron escaping, and nudges kisses along the arch of his neck.

“You’re not shying away from me, are you?”

“I thought you had to head off.”

“In a bit,” he says, bending his mouth to Aaron’s ear. “I’ve got something else in mind first…” Robert’s hand sneaks into his lap and Aaron knows that it’s given him the exact come-on he’s after.

“D’you ever get tired?” he says, the humour clinging to his voice. He guides Robert’s hand until his tight palm just cuffs the tip of his cock as a little preview.

“Tired of doing this? I don’t think so,” he says, scraping his teeth lightly on the curve of Aaron’s shoulder. Aaron shakes him off with a laugh that has his eyes rolling too. It’s mere minutes since Robert stroked his hair, out of breath and fresh from coming in Aaron’s mouth. Yet here he is, fired up and ready to go again.

A moment passes and Aaron realises he’s spent too long just enjoying the feel of Robert pressed up against him. Nothing ferocious or desperate about it, just enjoying the warmth – the touch. Then he feels Robert’s hands on his shoulders, pushing himself up onto his knees.

“Come on,” he says. “Don’t leave me waiting. I want to end this year in a good way.”

They’ve got this good. Aaron knows Robert’s fucked him enough times now that he knows how he likes it and does it without question, without deliberation. With skill and stamina. Robert knows the speed and the pace and knows that when Aaron’s breaths quicken he likes to go faster, likes to hear Robert’s guttural snatches of noise when he thrusts. He knows that when Aaron shudders and the muscles of his back tighten it’s not because he wants it to be over, it’s because he needs Robert to slow things down to take his time, to make each swerve of his hips count. Deep and slow. He knows when Aaron wants to be touched, how much and where and how much pressure. He knows that muddling Aaron’s name with a moan is enough of a trigger, that the ego fuelled questions about how good it is have him delirious and mocking but unquestionably turned on. He knows that Aaron’s quiet once he’s come, but he likes Robert on him, breathless and damp, kissing life back into him.

They’ve got this good.

*

“Shit. It’s eleven,” Robert says, once the second round has left them exhausted and silent. “Shit. Shit. Shit.”

Christmas Day. Boxing Day. New Year’s Eve. It’s starting to become a habit. It’s frequent. Dangerous. He should be with her on these days.

Aaron has resigned himself to Robert leaving and has no fight left in him as he watches Robert dress. What choice does he have? Beg him to stay like some pathetic kid with a crush? And have Robert laugh in his face probably.

“Enjoy the party,” Aaron says not meaning a single word. He’d thought spending the evening with Robert would help, would satisfy him. Physically, maybe, but every other joy has disappeared.

Robert scoffed. “Not likely. Not now if Chrissie’s going to be on my back all night.”

“Well, you know where to find me if she is,” Aaron says, almost expecting Robert to kick off at him, to go on the attack. He almost wishes he would, then they can draw a line under all this – move on. Maybe that would be easier rather than this.

“I can get away tomorrow,” he says, straightening up his leather jacket.

“If you want.”

“I can think of worse ways to start the year, can’t you?” He stands over Aaron now, fully dressed and leering. They exchange a smile, his wider than Aaron’s and then he walks away, calling back behind him. “One o’clock tomorrow, yeah?”

Aaron waits until he hears Roberts car leave and then he dresses, putting the barn back to how it was before. He collects the rubbish – the empty bottle and cans, the used condoms – and walks round the corner of the stables where he buries the evidence in a skip. A noise startles him and in the distance, in the direction of Home Farm, the sky lights up with fireworks. It’s midnight. 2015. His phone sounds with a text.

_Let’s make it a good New Year. R_

 


End file.
